This Time Tomorrow
by Reminscees
Summary: Domestic life and lil' bit of making out while watching 'Strictly' and 'Bake-Off'. As canon as possible for fanfiction.


This Time Tomorrow

On some days, Alfred questioned his place in the universe, his purpose, the reason he existed, as a nation, as a person, and he always came to the same conclusion; Because he was a hero, and the world needed heroes. Hell- In some interview, Germany's boss referred to him as '_Weltpolizei'_, 'World Police'. Alfred liked that.

On other days, he felt like he didn't need to question his place in the vast infinite realm because he already knew it, because he was content and didn't feel the urge to make up a purpose as he _had_ one.

Today, he felt his place was watching reruns of _'Great British Bake-Off',_ together with Arthur, needless to say because _why in hell would he watch this free willingly_. He was visiting Arthur in his London apartment, the smaller one in the city centre where Arthur always complained about his neighbours, a rich Russian couple, which he was not used to. In his other homes across the country, he tried to find placed in isolation, where he would not be bothered by his boss and his placate of I.D.s and cell phones, and all of those papers he had to fill out, which presently lay spread across the floor. The apartment was small and seemed like it would suit a single person, like an old lady or something, Alfred thought, or a young couple- in love and broke. Alfred blushed at the thought that they suited the apartment _perfectly_, if that were the case. Arthur didn't agree. When he showed Alfred the monthly rents for similar flats, he understood firstly why Arthur disagreed and secondly why there were no young couples- in love and broke- living anywhere in the area. Arthur smirked at Alfred stuttering response.

Arthur's apartment suited him a little too well, it was small but good enough, in the City with an amazing view and it was also close to the Houses of Parliament and Number Ten, which meant that Arthur could sleep longer than if he would have to commute from one of his houses outside the City. He usually stayed at one of those houses during holidays or something, and stayed in the City only when he had to work a lot and really did _not_ feel like sleeping in the office like Alfred sometimes did because he was too damn lazy to search for an apartment which did not require an hour long drive to get to work. Arthur stayed in this apartment because Alfred arrived on Thursday and Arthur got off work starting Friday so why bother leaving the flat now? Alfred didn't care- He hardly stayed at this one, he liked change. It was a nice apartment anyway, a little dark and old, filled with furniture from multiple decades, and thousands of books. Alfred blinked when he remembered that _all_ of Arthur's houses had this many books and shelves upon shelves upon shelves of first editions, manuscripts, novels and hardbacks. Those were a lot of books.

Presently, Alfred was staring at the television screen, and so was Arthur, both curled up on the small couch in front of it. Arthur's legs were flung across Alfred's lap, and Arthurs head rested on Alfred's shoulder, with his arms around Arthur's in-turn. Surprisingly, Arthur had refrained from complaining about decency and other things Alfred couldn't care less about, and was dressed in grey louse sweatpants and one of Alfred's gigantic t-shirts that he bought back in the nineties when it was _totally_ in fashion- What a trendsetter. It was the Captain America one, showing Arthurs sharp collar bones and shinny yet oddly muscular arms- and _by God_ if it didn't awkwardly turn Alfred on.

Alfred's hand drummed impatiently on the arm-rest of the couch, the other hand fiddling with the hem of the shirt.

"Stop it." Arthur muttered lowly, his voice sounding scratched and rough.

"Hm?" Alfred asked innocently, turning his head to look at Arthur, who's own face was indescribably close and really pretty, Alfred thought. He looked healthy, if that were the correct word. Yeah, healthy. He didn't have bags under his eyes and dark sockets like he used to, during the Cold War when everyone was tired and stressed, and he definitely did not look as fragile and sick as he did during the war. Alfred liked this Arthur the best. He even seemed relaxed and happy, which was an improvement to the years in the past century, of all the wars and crisis's he had to deal with- Both of them had to deal with. Together. Alfred smiled at the thought.

"What are you smiling at?" Arthur asked, his tone a little light.

"Just thinking about how pretty you are." Alfred replied with a soft grin and a crocked head.

Arthur exhaled sharply and his heart felt too small for his chest, his fingers light and his feet numb. A stupid reaction to such a small thing, a mere compliment, after _all these years_.

"Don't talk such rot- I'm in stained horrible trousers and your smelly shirt." He turned his head forward again.

Alfred's mouth dropped and he responded in a strangely aggressive tone: "It does not smell!"

"Does too." Arthur smiled, a little lopsidedly, trying to hide the laughter bubbling from inside his chest.

"What does it even smell like?" Alfred responded in a quick and serious voice.

Arthur replied with a blunt "Vomit.", where as Alfred opted for "It smells like _freedom_.", both stating their opinions at the same time.

Arthur was the first to break out laughing, beginning with a 'Pff' like noise and then straight-out laughing, leaning forward into Alfred's chest while doing so, which also moved with the eruption of laughter on his part.

Alfred ended with a 'Ah' and put off his glasses to wipe his eyes with the back of his hands. Arthur sighed and adjusted his position to continue staring into the television screen.

"So..." Alfred began, drumming those _damned_ fingers on the same arm rest again.

"Yes?" Arthur responded in a mumble.

"I don't get it." Alfred said, moving his head back and widening his eyes comically.

"Get what?" Arthur replied with a sigh.

"Why are we watching- Wait, what is this?"

"Oh, the first minutes of '_Strictly'_."

"Okay, '_Strictly'_," Alfred pronounced the word hesitantly and slowly, "Instead of making out? I mean- I haven't seen you in _forever_, and-"

Alfred was cut off by Arthur quickly leaning in, his lips pushing forward against Alfred's, a quick hand moving from his lap to cupping Alfred's head. He moved swiftly against Alfred, and he responded by shifting so that the angle wasn't quite this awkward, with his glasses cutting into Arthur's face, then retaliating the contact by turning his head and moving toward Arthur, leaning in. Arthur hummed in appreciation and corresponded by pushing his lips open, Alfred complied willingly, and kissed him, tongue moving like he spoke- Swift, harsh, and sharp as a knife. Alfred, on the other hand, felt lazy and tired and- the only fitting word would be- _domestic_ around Arthur today, and hence set and slower pace, with sloppy movements. No skill, no planned train of thought, all finesse thrown out the window: Just Alfred's too damn _youthful_ style, which Arthur thought he liked a little too much because his usual preference was _exactly_ the opposite. Arthur sighed and relaxed, submitting himself- Strange, he never did this- and Alfred did not stop, pushing Arthur slowly onto his back, with Alfred on top of him.

After some time, Alfred pulled away and watched Arthur's eyes flutter open, and both stared at each other. The only thought in Alfred's head was a mix between _'Holy fuck shit: __Oh, God'_ and other swearwords, as well as _'We're having a __moment'_ repeatedly. Arthur bit his lip, which was flush and wet and too attractive for being covered in spit and saliva, then aggressively pushed forward again, sitting himself firmly in Alfred's lap. Alfred's hands skimmed Arthur's back as his lips ghosted over Alfred's jaw line and the corner of his lips. Alfred's head fell back as soon as Arthur moved to kissing , more like biting and sucking- _Jesus_- slowly and teasingly. His hands started pulling up Arthur's- No, wait, _his_- shirt, unconsciously drawing circles on his hip bones. Arthur moved downwards to Alfred's collarbone, and Alfred responded with a soft '_Ah'_ , and Arthur quickly removed Alfred's own sweatshirt in a swift movement, only stopping when it got stuck at Alfred's head. He cursed himself at his bad luck and laughed nervously as Arthur untangled him, then kissed his nose and forehead, softly, which was entirely unlike. Alfred paused and stared at Arthur, who stared back in silence, then picked his glasses up from the bridge of his nose and placed them on the bookshelf next to the couch, Alfred's eyes following his movements. He sighed and leant their foreheads together, his hand cupping Arthur's waist and the other the back of his head, his Arthur's tangled in Alfred's hair which was soft and too long, yet probably one of the most comforting things to Arthur that he had ever been in contact with.

"You know..." Alfred began, his voice rough and quiet.

"I really missed you." He whispered, his eyes shyly looked at Arthur's reaction, which was a mix of surprise and endearment and _love_.

"It's never easy." Arthur replied with a similar private tone after a pause.

"I have an idea of what it's like." Alfred let out a breathy laugh, and Arthur responded by simply resting his head against his shoulder.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked, and he felt unsure of what to do with his hands.

"Yeah?" He didn't move.

"Love you- I love you." He said, bluntly, in a serious tone.

"I love you, too." Arthur replied, his voice breaking.

Damn.

This was an emotional moment: They were frail, in each other's arms, and the mood was fragile, private. It was too romantic for the both of them.

Alfred didn't want to fuck this up.

It wasn't the first time they had submitted their feelings, the first time in the 19th Century, the second during the First World War, then they were the Twenties- Needless to say what they got up to then- and the Second World War, the Cold War- Dude, they were _in the __shit_- the Fifties- Post-war was awkward and fragile and too teenage-y to think of- the Sixties and Seventies- High all the time on Alfred's part, drunk on Arthurs, but the _music_, Jesus-

They hardly ever said 'I love you'. Emotional moments weren't really _them_. It was more insults and _'Hey, you're hot, let's fuck'_ and '_I know you're telephone number by heart, all of them, and which toothpaste you use'_.

They really didn't say it at all. Not properly, not like this, only in hushed whispers when one thought the other was asleep, or quickly on the battlefield-

Alfred really didn't want to fuck this up.

Therefore, the best response he could think of was a low and elongated: "_Shit_."

Arthur _goddamn_ _smiled_, slowly and shyly.

Alfred was sure it was the prettiest, most beautiful thing he'd ever seen- And it was unfolding, like a flower, in front of him, just for him to see.

"_Damn_." Alfred continued and leant forward, feeling like he was going to burst and cry and laugh all at the same time. Laughing would _really_ not be appropriate, so instead he kissed Arthur again, slowly and chastely. Arthur was never one for chasteness, so it quickly because heated again when he thrust his tongue forward, gaining control of the kiss. Alfred found didn't mind and hummed softly. He only pulled away to begin pulling off Arthur's- Ah, _his_- shirt, then decided against it.

"W- Why'd you stop?" Arthur asked quickly, sounding breathless and a little scared- Insecurities.

"I guess I, uh, I can't decide whether I like you more without a shirt or with it- 'Cause it's, yeah, it's my shirt. Yeah." Alfred finished _very_ un-heroically.

"Oh." Arthur responded quietly.

"Well, I'll keep it on, in that case. Doesn't mean you have to stop, though." Arthur whispered, his lips grazing Alfred's ear, after a pause of Alfred coughing awkwardly and trying not to stare.

Alfred took Arthur's word and began pulling his sweatpants down, slowly, his head buried in Arthur's shoulder as he did, and fingers following the motion so _slowly_ it almost hurt. Arthur's skin burned where he was touched, then lifted himself up to be completely free of them. The shirt covered him to mid-thigh.

Alfred stared.

Arthur didn't know what to do.

Alfred felt like if this would be the last thing he would see before he would die, he would be happy.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked slowly and with a sly smile.

"Yeah?"

"Would you punch me if I took a photo of you now?"

Arthur's stare was the only answer he needed.


End file.
